The Last of The First
by ara-eris
Summary: Seras Alekto Blackwell was doing alright for an orphan who lives with her only living relative, her brother. It seems that the future is looking up, until she finds out she has to spend the rest of it slaying demons. Fun for the whole family ensues!
1. Intro: A New Slayer

Seras Alekto Blackwell was fourteen when her mother Alicia became ill with a sickness the doctors were unable to diagnose. They told her and her brother that years of extremely strenuous activity and stress had seemed to have taken its toll on the matron Alicia Blackwell.

She just couldn't understand that though. It had just been the three of them from as far back as she could remember, and her mother from her knowledge never seemed to be bearing any great stress. Neither had seen seemed to be doing any strenuous activity since they lived off of there father's moderate bequeathing, and all their mother had to do was work nights at a bar to supplement their income.

Terrence, her brother, said he remembered their father Nicholas, but he had died soon after she was born. He used to tell Seras that he couldn't remember how, and since her Mom had always been less than willing to fill in the blanks, it had always been a mystery to her.

But as long as it was assured her father did love her, it didn't really come into play in her small world. She never wanted for anything, and was very much loved by her brother and mother. She was part of a simple neo-American single parent home.

Well, at least that's what she was led to believe. Seras found out early in the month of September in her ninetieth year, that she had been slightly misled for all those years.

"You're a slayer." Her brother had announced suddenly as she sat on the couch in the living room of their barely year old condo on Madison Avenue. She looked up from her copy of Spin magazine and just stared at him.

"You know if you didn't like that crack I made on you in front of your date last night just say so." She retorted, staring back into her magazine. "Unless your testicles are permanently detached from your body and you lack the courage to do so."

Terrence sighed quietly, which caught Seras's attention. Whenever she answered him back, he would always have some sort of smart retort of his own to offer. A sigh in return for her smart ass remark was something to worry about.

She put down the magazine and turned completely to face him. He looked about as serious as a heart attack, which caused Seras to become more than a bit worried. She stood and turned completely toward him.

Terrence continued, "You're a slayer…and it's your duty, as handed to you by God, to send all demons who roam this Earth back into hell."

Seras stared blankly at his face, unable to conjugate an answer for such a seriousand blatant announcement. Only three thoughts came to mind: First was if it was an April Fool's joke (which it wasn't because it was September already). Second was that had her brother gone insane (a question that had always had the answer of a resounding yes on any given day of the year). But the third thought seemed to be the only logical thing at the time. It had been-

"What the hell's a slayer?"

Well, if she was going to be walking around calling herself a _slayer_ she had to know what the bloody hell a slayer was. That's when he sat her down and told her everything, or at least everything he knew.

Basically, it went as such: Her mother had been a slayer; a killer of demons and servant of God. Her father had been her mother's Watcher; the one to guide the slayer through their mission from God. Essentially, the two weren't supposed to fall in love, but what'da ya know? They did exactly that, and wound up getting married.

This, of course, displeased the Council of Whatever They Wanted to Call Themselves, and they promptly and officially denied to recognize hermother and father as part of their little group. Which meant that their parents didn't have access to the proper information and resources, and wouldn't you know it? Because of those pompous British pricks herfather died during a patrol.

It gave Seras a warm fuzzy feeling to find out that they had been blown to smithereens, the whole lot of them.

But sadly, because of such events, Seras, who was a slayer herself, had no one to ease her into the world of slayers and demons. No one unless you counted her brother, who had been taking Seras's place until she was ready, and was also there to help her when she was.

So from then on Seras's brother was her Watcher and assistant in her duties as a slayer. Of course, that didn't mean he took it easy on her when she was training. As a matter of fact, it probably made it worse since he had already had practice in teasing and mocking her when she wasn't doing anything right. He trained her, and in month (a period of time that even impressed her steel skinned brother) she was in decent enough shape to go out patrolling on her own.

It was during this first week that things got interesting.


	2. A Goddess & A Psychopath

Seras, of course, having watched too many movies, went out in a fashionable, but not all too functional outfit. Although she looked relatively cute in her leather racing jacket, tight black pants, black tank top and Nine West boots, she wasn't all too comfortable. And she sure as hell didn't feel dangerous. She felt more like a Neiman Marcus manikin than anything else.

"I swear to God next time I come out here I'm choosing function over fashion." Seras crankily muttered to herself. "Not only do I feel stupid, these Goddamn boots are _killing_ me!"

As she walked along some random street in Brooklyn, she felt her waist buzz. _What the hell?_ She thought, before realizing she had forgot to leave her cell phone at home.

Because the last thing she needed was to get a call on her cell phone right when she was about to jump a coven, and have the theme song that goes along with Darth Vader's entrance to be the last thing she hears.

As she unclipped her cell phone, the damn thing slipped out of her grip and slammed on the floor. "Stupid piece of Japanese crap." She muttered to herself as she bent down to pick up the phone from the floor.

That stupid piece of Japanese crap is what saved her life.

As she bent over she felt a blazing heat streak across her back, and the mail box ahead of her spontaneously explode and vaporize. "Oh shit!" She gasped and she dropped her legs and allowed herself to fall on her back, which put out the small line of flames which were on it.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!" She yelled, looking about to see what it was. She soon found what she supposed to be the source of the flame: a woman who was just standing a few feet in front of her in the middle of the sidewalk.

The woman before her had blondish red hair, pitch black eyes, black pants, stiletto boots and a top that looked like a toga meets Vanity Fair. The devil had stumbled into fashion week and got a make over.

Seras already knew she was in trouble—if this thing could cast fireballs that vaporize mailboxes, taking her out might wouldn't be all that much harder.

It—not she, an It, a very definite it—cocked her head and smiled, only no amusement touched her cold black eyes. For some reason, Seras concluded that she had seen eyes like that in the bottom of her Christmas stocking one year when she had been a bad girl.

"So," It said, in a voice as cold as the ninth circle of Hell, "you're her daughter, hmm? Funny, for the offspring of one who ruined my plans, I'd think you'd be a little more… intimidating."

Seras smiled, trying to look casual as she leaned against a wall with one hand, grabbing a vile of holy water with another. "That's because you haven't seen me in formal wear." _With any luck, her reflexes aren't very good…besides, if those fireballs were so easy to make, why didn't she try again after the first one missed?_ "And what are you?"

"I am Persephone, but you can call me _goddess_."

Seras blinked. "Wow, and some people call _me_ a narcissist."

Persephone shook her head. "No, Narcissus was much prettier…in fact, I think I saw him down in the Village not to long ago."

She smiled. "Figures."

It grinned, and slowly spread her hands wide, obviously ready for another attack. Suddenly, Seras's cell phone buzzed again, causing Persephone to flinch, and a very large hole to appear where the cell phone used to be.

Almost at the instant Persephone flinched, Seras grabbed her flask of holy water and flung it at her head. The "goddess" didn't even blink as she stopped the flask in midair, and then crushed it with a look.

"Oh crap." Seras flung herself to the side as Persephone sent the flask straight at her—the impact of the flask on the wall where her head had been turned the brick to powder.

Seras rolled to her knee in a crouch, twisted, flung a stake at Persephone, and then pushed off her feet into a run. _I had to be a slayer, didn't I? I couldn't be something simple, like the heir to millionaires lost in the jungle, could I? _

The stake flew past her ear, as she expected, and she also expected to hear the rush of a fireball coming for her. Instead, bricks from the buildings on either side of her exploded out from their moorings and came at her, so that the crossfire of bricks looked like Indiana Jones trying to escape from the poison darts at the opening of _Raiders_.

_Well, it could be worse_.

Just then, she jotted past some of the only trees in Brooklyn (_Wow, what do you know, there really ARE_ _trees growing in Brooklyn_) when they literally exploded into thousands of tiny razor-sharp toothpicks, heading straight at her. _Nuts_.

She instinctively jumped, knowing that there was no way in hell she could dodge any of those needles. She closed her eyes, hoping that she would at least make for a very pretty pincushion….

Then she landed on the ground.

On her feet.

She blinked and thought, _Wow, I have the ability to leap over tall buildings in a single bound. Let's try for fasterthan a speeding bullet…_

She then tested that theory as the street exploded behind her in a rain of dust and concrete. _May the road rise up to meet you indeed. What were the Irish thinking with that blessing? Then again, who said they thought?...Hmm, must've gotten this bias from father dearest…who knew hating Irishmen were genetic, then again, he was British—_

Pieces of curb rose up to meet her, and she dropped and rolled as they crashed into one another, turning into concrete dust.

_I have to change my tactics; this is getting me nowhere fast. She can make trees explode, but she can't make me explode…hmm, I wonder if I can use that to my advantage…if she can't make me explode, could she do anything else to me directly, or does she need to throw things at me, like fireballs? And do I really want to get close enough to find out…_

_Or maybe I can force the issue._

Seras's eyes fell on a nearby graveyard, and she banked left, narrowly missing a telephone pole that had been harpooned at her. She leapt up-narrowly avoiding a manhole cover from cutting her legs off-flipped over the rail iron fence, and promptly ripped off one of the iron rails.

_How to force close-quarters combat…move into closer quarters._ She chose the nearest crypt and kicked the door in, not noticing it was already open.

In there was a six-foot well muscled blonde man already in there, growling as he stomping down on someone's knee, ripped his throat out with the stake in his hand before plunging it into the vampire's heart.

"And next time, stay the hell outta my city! Geez," he muttered, "Don't these people ever _learn_, I know Giuliani left town, but it's not like the rest of us have left." He turned, ready to leave, and found Seras standing at the door, blocking his path with an iron rail, and reached for a cavalry sword at his side. "Oh great, just what I didn't need."

"Just what I was thinking," she muttered. _Where's the creature who was chasing me though?_

Outside, Persephone took her time. She sensed that her prey had stopped moving, and she could stroll towards her. She was surprised, though, that everything thrown at her did not even slow Seras down. Normally, she would think of this as a challenge, but right now, it was just annoying.

"Hey, bitch, you want somma dis?"

Persephone stopped, and slowly turned towards the sound of the noise. Three men known as "Guidos" were approaching her, one with a knife. They acted as though they should be intimidating.

"Cuz I know I want somma dat!" Another of them yelled, laughing.

Persephone smiled. Men.

She had time.

Seras needed time. A machinegun might've helped too.

"Listen, I don't need this right now. I've had a long night, and I don't want any trouble. How about we both come back tomorrow night and finish each other off then, kay?"

The blonde man smiled an annoying little smile. "I've had a long night too. Kind of like the night of the long knifes, but I'm willing to kill one more vampire."

"One more wha—"

The blonde lunged, slicing overhead with the cavalry sword. Seras raised the rail to meet it, but it was a feint, and he changed directions to slash across at her stomach. She leapt back just in time, so the point of his sword only cut her shirt, and a little bit of epidermal tissue, not even drawing blood.

_Don't tell me I'm going to get taken out by a frigging nutbar with a pointy object while I have a demon after me. Just my kind of luck._

She thrust at him, he guarded, lunged forward, and head butted her, pivoted his torso, and elbowed her in the eye. He spun, bringing the sword around for a decapitation strike, and she leapt aside before he could touch her.

"You're not bad… I haven't had a vamp this challenging since Igor."

Igor? Wasn't that a vampire with magical powers? Her brother had mentioned something about a shootout in Red Hook a few years back, involving a military strike, a vigilante group, and something about an air strike.

"Really? You must be taking it easy on me then, I haven't had it this easy since my Watcher trained me…he might've been tougher," she bluffed.

"Watcher? You're a—"

The door to the crypt blew open, being ripped off its hinges into the open air.

"Oh shit," they both said at once.

Persephone smiled. "Another man, how nice. They are so amusing, aren't they?"

The blonde slid his sword back in its scabbard and smiled, annoyingly, again. "I try to oblige."

The demon-god stepped forward. "Then be a good little boy and run along, I need to kill this abomination."

He nodded. "Well, it's obvious you can't run along, certainly not in those shoes. How about this, I kill her, you can pick up the pieces, kay?"

He turned back towards Seras, who had already been on her feet for a while. Her honey eyes met his deep blues, and she cocked her head at him, as though he was telling her something. He charged in at her, and she did the obvious, dropped and tried to sweep his leg. He anticipated and leapt over it, reached down, and grabbed her by the lapels, pulling her to her feet. He head butted her again, but this time, to her, it felt like a tap. "Ram it under my arm," he whispered. She blinked, then rammed the iron rail as he instructed. He blinked, and made several convincing gargling noises and made her think she'd run him through. He grabbed the rail, and almost took it with him as he fell to the crypt floor. She pulled it back, curious as to what this was about, and then turned to the creature who had pursued her.

Persephone was right in front of her, and smiled. "Nicely done. You sure you wouldn't want to work for me?"

"I don't even know who you are lady."

"Persephone, goddess of the underworld."

"Oh, yeah, you mentioned that….Riiiiight, suuuuure you are. You know, I had three vampires last week who told me that they was Lestat, so—"

"You have your mother's sense of humor. I like that…I'm still going to destroy it, but I like it."

Before Seras could question how she knew her mother, Persephone jabbed at her. Seras lifted the rail to intercept it, and the fist struck it like a gong going off. Persephone pulled back her hand leaving knuckle imprints in the bar.

Seras spun, slamming the blunt end of the rail into her face. Persephone barely blinked, grabbing the bar and throwing it out of Seras' grasp. She turned back to Seras and lashed out with a fist, and instead of dodging, Seras closed inside the swing and braced for the impact—she swore it broke something—and unleashed an uppercut into Persephone's nose that would've drove it out the back of a normal person's head. Persephone's nose didn't crack, but her head did snap back. Seras followed with a head butt and a hammer blow into her ribs.

Persephone swayed a little, then grabbed Seras by the throat and lifted her off the ground. She smiled. "You at least have style."

Persephone, for a reason Seras couldn't see, suddenly lost her balance. Seras took advantage, and slammed her arms up, breaking the creature's grip. As she fell back towards the floor, she brought both hands down onto either side of into Persephone's neck with karate chops. The slayer spun, ripped the stone lid off of the central crypt coffin, and then broke it to powder over Persephone. The Demoness fell back against the wall, and there, on the other end of the tomb, was the blonde man, smiling his little smile, and throwing a wooden stake at her heart.

Persephone vanished before the stake could hit.

Seras blinked, gasped for breath, and then looked at the other guy. "What the hell was that about?"

"It appears to me that the gods have not gone mad, they're just pissed…at you." He cocked his head. "Slayer, huh?"

"Yeah, I'm Seras, Seras Blackwell."

"Cool, nice to meet you."

If looks could kill, his family tree would have incinerated. Seras could feel her face grow warm as she looked at him, and she became slightly embarrassed. He smiled at her, and whether it was because she saw her blush or he was being nice, she couldn't tell. She moved on, trying to get this over with before she had to deal with further embarrassment. "Yeah, sure, whatever, and what the hell were you doing while she went after me? "

He chuckled. "Remember when she was about to slam you through a wall, and then suddenly lost her balance?"

"Yeah, and?"

"How do you think that happened?" He raised a simple stiletto heel. "I cut this off the back of her boot. She really should dress better for a combat zone. Stylish is nice, but survival is better. I can only imagine she got out of the way of the stake because I soaked it in holy water—I figured it would make a change from those soaked in turpentine, but then again, if I had set her on fire, we may not have had a problem anymore…."

She blinked. "What the hell _are_ you?"

He smiled. "My name is Marco Cattalano. Welcome to Brooklyn."


	3. I Could Have Slayed All Night

She stared at him while he smiled. Now that he wasn't trying to kill her, it was kind of cute. "If I didn't know any better, I would say you were glowing." He jested. She became furious, and sick of embarrassing herself in front of this complete- although very much attractive- stranger. She stormed out of the crypt, not paying attention to her surroundings.

"You might want to-"

Seras turned, staking the vampire who had come out to the right and behind her with her left hand; all the while giving him a look of absolute enragement. "Guess I don't have to tell you anything." He said, a tinge of amusement still in his voice. She yanked the stake out of the vampire, allowing him to disintegrate at her feet. She stood, her look of molten gold trying in vain to set him a blaze. Without a word she continued to storm out of the graveyard.

Seras pounded the pavement as she went about the business of patrolling. She stopped, feeling someone following her, and hoping it wasn't who she thought it was. She bent down, taking the dagger out of her boot, and standing upright again, dagger in right hand. The footsteps that had almost silently succeeded her stopped as well. Seras felt her muscles tense, but then remembered what her brother had told her:

"Tense your muscles and you won't be as fast when you react. It's better to be loose, especially that if you are, injuries you receive won't be as bad as they could be."

She relaxed, letting the night breeze brush against her sun-kissed skin. Without turning, she threw the dagger over her shoulder, and followed with a spinning side step to the left, watching the flaming stake fly past her into a nearby telephone pole. She looked at Marco who was twirling her dagger in his hand. That smile still on his face, only plastered on now instead of simply being there.

"You're good, but not quite there yet."

"I thought you said you stopped using turpentine?" She questioned looking back at the flaming stake.

"Yeah well I might have lied." He tossed the dagger back at her. "God forgives, right?"

She caught the dagger and replaced it in the scabbard hidden in her boot. "Yeah I suppose. I've only been a slayer for a month, but a lifetime catholic against the wishes of my father."

Marco blinked, the smile had been completely wiped off his face and somehow transported onto Seras's. "I stand corrected. You're pretty damn good for only being at it for a month."

Seras looked down at her shirt and gave a little laugh. "Yeah well that didn't save my shirt now did it?" She looked up and smiled at him.

He smiled back, but this time it wasn't as annoying. "You know, you should really smile more. Scowling doesn't suit you…And you look cute when you blush."

Seras felt the slight heat in her face bloom into a heat with a life of its own. Instead of running, she stood there, let the coloring subside, and then turned around. "I got to go."

"Where?" He asked after her.

Seras called out rather than face him again. "To finish my patrolling."

"You know it's not too wise to go walking in the direction of the hundreds of thousands of dollars in damages with a mercenary's kit of weaponry."

Seras stopped and looked at her surrounding only to notice that he was right; she was walking straight through the same area she had ran through while Persephone was giving chase and realized that if she was caught there with her weaponry, she would be in **big** trouble. "Maybe going this way isn't the best thing."

"Yeah."

She turned around to see the tall blonde Italian hovering behind her. She gave a short gasp as Marco took her by the hand. She looked him in his deep blue eyes and fell silent. This was getting to be annoying. He was making her blush, causing her heart to slightly flutter and his blue eyes were burning cavernous wholes into her soul.

If she didn't know any better she'd say she was actually…quite possibly…falling in love?

"Come on. Let's walk _away _next morning's top story, shall we?"

As the two walked aimlessly through the Brooklyn streets, they made small talk.

"So you're mother was a slayer, eh?"

Seras nodded her head. "Funny part is I didn't find out any of this until practically the other day. I've only been a slayer for a month, and even that time was spent in training. I've only been patrolling for about a week."

"And I'd say you've been rather successful." Seras gave Marco a look of mild confusion. Marco continued, "Usually if a slayer has some powerful ancient entity chasing after them with the intention of making them nonexistent, they're getting along pretty well. Except, I don't think it's such a good thing in you're case, seeing as you're inexperienced and all."

"So I would guess that you're a slayer yourself." Seras stated, trying to change the topic away from her near death in the past hour or so.

"Not exactly. It's more of a hobby, something to do to kill time on those long lonely Saturday nights."

"Oh."

They continued to walk down the street of the opulent neighborhood until they reached the end. The Manhattan skyline glowed in the not too distant horizon, along with a harbor cruise ship that was traveling around the island with its continuously partying passengers. This view was lost on the two patrollers, mainly because all they saw was two women about to be sucked dry by a pair of all too hungry looking vampires.

"I'll go left for the one on the left, you the right. Sound good to you?" Marco looked over at Seras to see whether she agreed or not and found the space where she had been standing empty. He looked up to see Seras going at it with the two vampires. Marco sighed. "Or we can just charge head on into the fight without thinking. That's always a classic."

Marco pulled out a holy water soaked sake and headed after the newbie slayer.

One of the over dramatically dressed Goth vampires saw him coming and charged head on, letting out a supposedly horrid hiss.

"Dress normally would you? This isn't a game." Marco launched the stake out of his hand and into the vampire heart right as it got within arm's length. "Unlike in one of yourgames of Vampire The Requiem, you can actually die." He let the vampire stand there and croak fora bit. "Okay, enough. I'll take this back now." Marco plucked the stake out of the vampire, and placed it back in his belt as it turned into dust. "Waste not what not. Wonder how the newbie's doing…"

Marco looked over to see Seras being backed up against the railing by the other equally over dressed vampire. He sighed and was about to go and help her, when he took a second look. He knew he didn't need glasses, yet he could swear he saw a look of _enjoyment_ on the young slayer's face. Well who knew? Someone who enjoyed killing the damned bastards as much as he did. How nice to know.

He stepped closer to get a better look at what she was going to do. This should be interesting.

The vampire closed in on the poor helpless, well armed slayer and gave a smile. Idiot probably thought that this whole "being a vampire" thing was totally awesome, and was showing off his teeth. "Poor little good Samaritan, coming to save the defenseless victim only to become one yourself. Don't you understand that you can't beat me? I'm a child of the darkness. This, the night, is _my_ realm. Even you're little friend is struck motionless with fear. You can't possibly hope to win. After I get you, he's next. This is it for the both of you." The Bella Lugosiwannabe gave a smug little laugh.

"Great now he's monologueing." Marco groaned. "She better get rid of him before _I _do."

Seras stopped and gave a sigh of defeat. "You're right." She whimpered hopelessly. She deserved an Oscar for the acting job she was doing right now. "But can I at least get a last drink…and a last kiss? From such a beautiful perfected creature of power?" From her peripheral vision she could see that Marco was greatly amused.

The vampire smiled and looked her up and down. "Go ahead. Might as well take something to dull the pain."

_Moron._

Seras pull her other hip flask out and uncorked it. "After I drink all this down, I'll kiss death and be ready to die." She looked at him, not focusing her gaze so as to make it look like she was ready to cry. The vampire smiled. This little prick was really enjoying this master of fate thing. Might as well let him, it was his last moments on Earth. Why not send him off with a kiss for a moderately beautiful young woman?

She tilted her head back and drank down the contents, leaving half of the contents in the flask, with a gulp's worth in her mouth. Dramatically she swung her head back down and looked at the vampire. With flask still in hand, she threw herself into his arms and kissed him, spitting the gulp's worth of holy water into his throat when he tried to get some tongue.

The vampire pushed her away and dropped to his knees, grabbing his throat as it disappeared under his fingers. Seras smiled as his neck collapsed in on itself, along with the rest of his body. He then turned into dust, spilling into the breeze and blowing all over her hands, clothes, face and hair.

"Poor baby, can't handle his drinks."

Seras stood, faced away from the dust and took a deep breathe, exhaling a deep sigh of satisfaction. She faced Marco, who still stood at a distance, looking at her with something that resembled mild interest.

"Too much?" She asked, sounding surprisingly innocent for someone who had just cruelly killed someone just seconds ago. Well, it wasn't really a person he supposed. So her innocence would still technically be withstanding. But still, she was pretty nonchalant for a newbie. Hardly seemed effected at all.

He liked that.

"Just a bit disturbed that you're okay with being covered in vampire remains."

Seras laughed and gave him a smile. Even from where he stood he could see her eyes dancing in the dim street light with the satisfaction of the kill. He found himself staring for the simple reason that he had only seen that look in the quick reflections he had seen of himself after he had killed a vampire.

"Lets get you home."

"Why?" She protested.

Marco laughed. "I know you seem to be enjoying yourself, but as you can see…"

Seras looked to where Marco was pointing in the distance. The sky had started to lighten, and the sun was threatening to come up, ruining all the good fun she was having. She sighed and replaced the flask on her hip. "Suppose I can't continue hunting when the sun is out."

"Not unless you have an answer ready as to why you're walking around with a two centuries old sharp object and a flask filled with holy water."

The two exchanged a look of amusement. They both knew that technically, they could go hunting in the day time, but neither was up to the job of explaining why they were kicking open random crypt doors, looking inside for a few seconds, and then closing the door as if nothing had happened. So it was time to go home.

"It was nice meeting you." Seras offered her hand. "Marco right?"

Marco walked up and yet again took her hand. "And where do you think you're going?"

A slight sense of alarm took over Seras. "I'm going home." She pointed over her shoulder. "I was planning to walk along the pathway until I hit the Brooklyn Bridge over there."

He gave her and incredulous look. "Uh huh. And then what?"

As she gave her answer, she realized how ridiculous it sounded. "Walk over to 118th and Madison." She looked up at him and offered an embarrassed grin. He sighed, and walked over with her hand in hand to the curbside edge.

"Where exactly are you taking me?" She questioned.

"I'm assuming that you don't know how to get back home by train, and that even if you do you really don't feel like doing that right now. So I'm going to put you in a cab and send you home. And if you even think of paying for the cab fare I'll break you're arm off here and now."

Seras became a bit stunned and allowed Marco to lead her along. She had never before heard someone force chivalry on another person, and threaten them if they tried otherwise. She was quickly beginning to believe that this guy Marco was completely, utterly, undeniably…nuts.

They soon reached a major street and Marco waved down a cab. The foreign driver rolled down his window and asked with a surprising lack of accent, "Where to?"

Marco looked over at Seras, who was still dumbfounded by his threatening kindness to realize a simple face…Marco didn't know her exact address. "You need me to check your wallet for you?" He asked, a slight tone of impenitentness sliding through. She snapped back to reality and peered down at the driver. "Can you take me to Madison between one-eighteenth and one-seventieth?"

The driver seemed to be taken back for a second, as if he had been struck by a frying pan wielded byan eight foot tall yeti. She must have looked horrible. He said almost inaudibly, "Sure I can take you there, just need to get the directions up on my GPS, no prob."

"Alright then." She watched Marco as he opened the door for her. "In you go."

Seras walked around and stepped into the cab, looking back up at him. "You know you don't have to do this. I can handle the-"

He cut her off. "Do you think I was kidding about breaking your arm?" Shestopped what she was saying and just blankly stared at him. "Get in the cab. I don't want you're brother worrying about you."

"Thanks." She offered her hand again in a sign of good faith. "I hope we can cross paths again."

"We will. Until then…" He took her hand and gave it a quick kiss. "Parting is such sweet sorrow, my dear slayer." Without reaction from her, he placed her hand at her side and closed the door. He looked at the driver. "So how much is the damage?"

The cabby looked back at her, still a bit dumbstruck, and replied, "For her? Twenty'll cover any fare she accumulates." Marco reached into his back pocket, pulled out a relatively small wad of twenties and handed one to him.

Before the driver took off, Marco called his attention again. "By the way? If you try anything with her, just remember I have your license plate memorized, and have no qualms with hunting you down and treating you with the same loving care that a white supremacist would have with you and yours. Am I understood?"

A look of pure horror emerged on the driver's face as he mechanically nodded his agreement. "Good." Marco pounded on the roof of the cab. "Tally ho then. Don't want to keep the poor girl's family worrying do we?"

As Marco backed away from the cab, he caught Seras's eye and did a small mocking bow as the cab sped off. She turned to watch him walk into the distance until she couldn't see him anymore, then slid into the back seat of the car and smiled. Interesting man that Cattalano. Bizarre, but in the way that you would want someone to be. Definitely someone she would check up on in the future.

She looked up to notice the cab driver nervously checking his review mirror. "You know I never had any intentions of laying a hand on you." The cabbie said in the awkward silence that was now filling the car. "I'm not that kind of man."

Seras waved off her benefactor's behavior. "Don't pay him any mind. He's just an enthusiastic chivalric is all." As she said this, she realized for a millisecond a gleam in the cabbie's eyes. He was getting ideas was he? Well she very well couldn't go around letting _that_ happen, now could she?

"Besides, I don't need him to protect me." She sighed casually.

"Oh?" He questioned with some interest. "And why's that?"

Seras took out herdagger and allowed the shinning blade to catch his eye. "Because I know how to use this to cause you so much pain you'd rather have sex with deli slicer. Now keep your eyes on the road will you? We don't want any accidents, do we?"


	4. There She Blows

Seras stood in her room preparing for patrol. It had been nearly a month since she had that run in with that Persephone character, and since then nothing really notable had happened. She hadn't seen or heard anything from the supposed _goddess_, and the same had rung true for that Cattalano guy. She supposed it was because she had left Brooklyn to him and kept her patrolling to the other four boroughs.

Since then she had gotten better at her duties as a slayer. She was beginning to find it easier to kill the century old vamps as well as the occasional coven. Seras even found that she was beginning to enjoy it more. It really did work well as a stress reliever, killing things that deserved it. She was beginning to see why someone would take it up as a hobby.

Her arsenal had increased as well as her skill. Taking a page out of her acquaintance's book, she began to soak her sakes in both turpentine and holy water. She herself enjoy using the turpentine ones, but she required more practice when it came to throwing lit ones without singeing something on her person. Also, top of her two hip flasks filled with holy water, she carried the holy substance in glass vials that she could through from a distance. It worked for keeping some coven members occupied while she fought others.

Of course with the increase in weaponry came a change in wardrobe. Her boots became more functional, switching out her fashionable heeled Nine West boots for a pair of Doc Martens, the official ass-kicking boots. Her jeans we now made of thicker material, so as to avoid ripping easily and have to repair or replace them about five _thousand_ times a month. A simple black, multi-pocketed trench coat covered up everything that wasn't kept inside the coat itself.

Also she had taken a liking to wearing t-shirts with a sense of humor: one that said "Bite Me", another from a blood drive that read "Got Blood?", and another from a band with the actual name of _Slayer_. Hey, if you couldn't keep yourself amused during the job what was the point? Besides, she might as well give the bastards one last laugh before she brutally killed them.

As she placed her mother's dagger in the scabbard hidden inside her boot, Seras heard her brother call her from the living room. She poked her head out of her bedroom and called out to him. "Yeah, what is it? I'm getting ready for patrol."

"Could you come out for a second?" was his only reply.

Seras stepped out of her bedroom, making sure that all her stakes were securely attached so that they wouldn't fall out. She looked up to see her brother standing in the living room with his arms crossed over his chest. She smiled at the look of exasperation on his face, probably from her t-shirt.

It read simply: _Made You Look._

"Yeah, what is it?" She remarked with a loving smile.

"Do you know anybody by the name of Marco Cattalano?" He asked incredulously, looking off at the small entry hall that was out of her field of vision.

Seras stopped suddenly and gave her brother a look. "Marco _who_?"

Marco stepped out from around the corner and leaned against the wall, he grabbed at his heart. "Miss, you cut me to my very soul. And here I am thinking that we had made _such_ a connection…"

Seras smiled, only to her brother's frown. "Exactly when did you meet this guy?" Her brother questioned, sizing Marco up with cold amber eyes.

Marco shrugged. "About a month ago….it involved a crypt and a hell god… or maybe a Hell demi-god, I could never quite get the proper theological term for it." A silence filled the room, which Marco quickly filled after a glance at her t-shirt. "Guess it did."

"Did what?" Seras asked a bit thrown off.

"You're shirt." He answered. "It made me look."

She gave a small laugh, which ended when she saw the look on her brother's face. He wasn't one to tell her who she could and could not talk to, but he excelled in making her feel ill at ease when he wanted to.

"Yes well, enough with the small talk, what do you want?"

Marco smiled and raised a brow. "Guess he got you're dad's English frankness."

"Excuse me?" Her brother's eyes flashed and the mirror next to Marco gave a horrifying crack.

Marco, slightly surprised, looked back at the mirror behind him. "Lemme guess: telekinetic witch?"

"You guessed right." Terrence growled. "Now what do you want?"

"I had been out in the cold cruel world that is Brooklyn, and I wondered if Seras wanted to come out and play. At the risk of you blowing a blow vessel in my brain, could I have a few words with your sister…preferably alone?"

Terrence looked Marco in the eye. The two kept gazed at each other for five seconds short of forever until Terrence finally broke it; seeming to have emerged from the ocean depth all too willing to breathe in the fresh air.

"There." Marco cocked his head and sighed. "You convinced I'm on _your_ side now? Or will I need to pass a polygraph too?"

Her brother brought his hand to his brow and waved them off. "Be back by seven. I want you to get some sleep. You've been spending entirely too much time out there."

"I'm just honing my skills." Seras brushed off the comment with as much care as an airport luggage handler. She began to follow Marco out the door when he brother's hand shot out and grabbed her by the wrist. With a bit of a shock, Seras looked up at her brother who kept his head in his hand.

"You know exactly what I mean when I say that…Seras you have to remember there's a limit in what you do." He looked up and his younger sister, and startled her half to death. She had never seen his eyes filled with such graveness as she was seeing them now. "There's not much distance between what you do and what Marco does. His soul is a good one, but it's marred. That man out there carries a lot of rage in his heart and it eventually will be his downfall. Don't follow in his footsteps and make them your own."

Seras's eyes flashed with anger. She was becoming more annoyed by her brother's behavior than alarmed. "He does what he can to make this city a safer place for everyone, just like I'm doing. And if I have to find my downfall in something, I would hope that it would be while I was doing something as noble as a mission from _God_."

She pulled her arm out of her brother's grasp, startling him with her newfound strength. "And if I ever find you talking about another slayer like that-"

"He's **not** a slayer!" Terrence said trying to keep his voice down to a relatively soft tone.

"He's as much a slayer as I am, and if you haven't noticed, the organization and those rules you are so fond of following? Are the reason why our father is **dead**."

The two stood and stared each other down. Terrence too proud to admit that his sister was totally right, and Seras to enraged by her brother's arrogant, smug, prick-headed behavior to do anything else but stare dead at him; her self-control trying to force back her need to back slap some sense into her brother.

Marco leaned against the hallway wall, pretending to examine his fingernails—as if it would matter by the end of the night. Why did everyone assume his hearing was the same as everyone else's? His father could hear dog whistles at his age, and he wasn't that far off either.

What kind of pompous idiot was this brother of her's anyway? Marred soul indeed. Well, at least the sister had some common sense. But Marco supposed he could understand. He had an older sibling himself. Only difference was his sister wasn't as much of an assuming jerk as Terrence was.

Marco sighed, and was about to leave when he heard a loud slam of the door in front of him. He turned up his indifferent stare at the young slayer who stood before him; the door to her apartment hanging at an odd angle from the hinges.

"Your heart to hearts always go so well?" He asked, standing up straight.

"Must…kill…something…now…" She growled with the same intellect as a pre-historic Neanderthal. He face looked to have as much patience as well.

"As you wish."

From there, they took the elevator to the ground floor, left the building, and took the train to Brooklyn.

The two walked through a rather large, non-descript cemetery in the outskirts of Brooklyn and the no-middle-class-man's land of Long Island. They had been walking in silence, Seras not being able to say anything intelligible other than her desire to kill something…brutally.

"Feeling better?"Marco asked, examining the almost stone features of Seras's angered profile.

Seras didn't say a word. She continued to walk along, a primal determination in her step that mirrored that in her words.

"You know you're a great conversationalist, but I must stop you for a second and point out that you shouldn't get too angry atanything your brother says. Mainly because he's British."

Seras suddenly stopped, causing Marco to slam on the proverbial brakes and looked down at Seras's puzzled face. Although puzzled wasn't a good look for her, it was good to see that her face was pliable and not made of stone.

She stared a perplexed little stare which Marco promptly returned, until finally she uttered the question that was mulling about in her brain.

"You're Irish aren't you?" She accused more than asked.

"Guilty as charged. Is that a problem?"

It amazed Marco that she had to stand there and think about it before replying with a quick "No.", and start up her quick pace again.

"So glad you had to think about that." Marco muttered to himself, as he stared up again to quickly catch up his part limey companion for the evening.

Short after her British moment, Seras soon got her wish to kill something without regard for its or her soul: a group of nine vampires came out from behind a crypt and began to approach them.

"You twoz lost or sumtin?" Said one of the Gotti brothers turned vampire. "Cuz if youse knew any better you wuld- Wha da fuck?"

Seras held her mother's dagger in one hand and five vials of holy water in the other. Marco looked over at her and grinned. She leapt at them, slicing off one of their heads with one hand and hurling the holy water with another, throwing the vial down a vamp's throat. A spin kick slapped the second vamp's head off its body, and an underhanded stake throw took out a third.

She elbowed the last one in the eyes, driving him against a crypt. "Bu—bu—chu're just a kid."

Seras' left eye twitched, "You think I wanted this? You think I _wanted_ this?...Having to learn responsibility through some age old tradition of robbing cradles to carry out God's mission instead of having it taught to me by my parents?" She rammed her dagger through the vamp's chest and into the stone crypt, pining him there. She grabbed his head in both hands and proceeded to bash his skull in against the mausoleum. "You think I want to be hunted my entire fucking life, you mutherfucking sonofabitch! You think a wanted this! **DO YOU!"**

Marco watched as Seras kept pounding the vamp's skull into the wall, and she only stopped when one particularly hard pull on her part had ripped the mushy remains of the vampire's skull off of his neck.

Marco was about to intercede when a whole bunch of freshly risen vampires literally popped out of their graves, having been so rudely awoken. Didn't Seras know that being a vampire meant they could sleep in?

Unfortunately for them, Seras was ready.

To save the very long details, imagine a graveyard. Any graveyard, really. Then imagine a straight path of destruction. A literal straight line where crypt doors were ripped off their hinges, then used to decapitate vampires; headstones had been used as projectile weapons; where crosses had been pull off of graves to be thrust into a vampire's chest, nailing him to the ground as she poured holy water into his open wound; trees felled so it could be used as a club; vampires still wailing in pain as they've all been impaled on the same gigantic cross, slowly disintegrating; large portions of fence ripped out to pin six or seven vampires to the cement.

Or, to make this a shorter tale, she started killing at 8p.m., EST. Marco had simply sat back on a headstone and sighed. "And people think _I _have deep-seeded emotional issues. I wonder how I report this to her brother: she ripped her shirt off to use as a restraint as she poked about twenty holes in the vamp's body, and pour holy water in all the wounds." He slipped a book from his back pocket, occasionally looking up to check on her progress.

Around 3 a.m., Marco was on his second book, and noted a distinct appearance by a familiar psychotic acquaintance: Persephone. He sighed, slipped in a bookmark, closed the book, and was ready to do battle with the demi-goddess. At that point, Seras hurled a gravestone at a vampire, and wound up decapitating two—the missile kept flying through the air, heading straight for Persephone. It put up her hands casually, with about five seconds to spare. Marco expected the stone to be crushed to dust, but it actually hit Persephone right in the chest, slamming her about two feet into the ground, to both there surprise. Before Marco could go over to her, she vanished.

Cattalano cocked his head. _Fascinating. I must refer to Terrence to see _exactly _what Seras is…she's not just a Slayer._

At about five in the morning, Seras ran out of victims, until a power walker and her dog came out, passing the cemetery. Seras heard them and leapt for them, going after the yappy little Chihuahua.

Marco tackled her in mid-leap, knocking her out of the air, and pinning her on her stomach, his hands on her wrists. The power walker and her dog got away without ever having known they were about to be gutted.

"Don't, stake, the civilians," Marco told her. She tried to roll over and pound him into a bloody cocktail, but he managed to hold on through the use of several very creative wrestling holds, until, at the end, she merely lay crying…

_Damn it, why did we have to come this far out? In her condition, I'm going to have to carry her back to Manhattan._..

Still wary Seras might attack, he slowly let go of her. When she wound up curling into the fetal position instead of brutally attacking, he let out a deep sigh. "Come on, let's get you home shall we?" He gingerly lifted to her feet, buttoning up her trench coat before helping her out of the cemetery.

A half hour later, she growled. "Damn it, I look like an idiot."

Marco rolled his eyes. "Well, let's see, four weeks ago, you were a normal person…though I hesitate to say it, considering your prior wardrobe—though I thank you for wearing a sports bra—and since then, you've been recruited into an army of God, hunted down by vampires, needed to slaughter a legion of demons, and you're being stalked by a demi-goddess from the tenth circle of Hell." He shrugged. "You've had a busy month. You're entitled to a nervous breakdown."

She started to walk without his support, angrily pawing at her tears and closing herself by crossing her arms. He allowed her to commence with the self inflicted isolation, understanding that she didn't want to be talked to, but didn't want to be alone either. They walked to the New Lots station on three train, boarded the nearly empty and sat down. Marco had sat on the opposite side of the train car from Seras, intending to give her some personal space.

As Marco continued to read his book, he felt something on his left side. He looked up from the book to see Seras noiselessly seating herself next to him. Not questioning her, he went back to reading his book, until he experienced something very odd occurred.

Seras leaned over his arm, letting her breast rest on Marco's arm as she pressed her lips against his cheek. He wouldn't have been as startled if she hadn't next kissed him on the lips, and held for what seemed like an extraordinary amount of time. After pulling away, she rested her head on his shoulder and fell asleep almost immediately.

Marco didn't even put down his book. He merely stared blankly at the pages before him not being able to think for a while, until a single thought popped into his head:

_Oh crud, she's into me. After seeing what a nervous break down looks like for her, I'm almost scared to tell her about Amanda._

He looked over at the sleeping slayer and finally took the time to examine her features in detail. Her face was relaxed in her state of deep sleep, her golden honey eyes hidden behind her closed eyelids and tangled mahogany colored lashes. Her brown red hair playfully swayed its ringlets to and fro about her face in time with the motions of the train.

He moved his eyes over her face and allowed them to fall on her lips, two pieces of pinkish red silk sitting on her naturally sun kissed skin. With her eyes hidden from view, her lips easily began her most becoming feature. She seemed too young to be a slayer, but he wasn't about to say she looked too innocent. After seeing what she was capable of, he "innocent" did not come to mind No matter how angelic she looked while she slept.

He returned to his reading, deciding to leave the explanations for another time; like when she asked him for such information or she was less psychotic. But definitely not now He'd leave that for another time, when he was able to tell how infatuated shewas with him.

_If at all my aching ass. _Marco sighed to himself. _How do I always get stuck in situations like this? I mustbe asking for it in some strange way. Must be my karma, it attracts people like this._

The rest of the train ride went over without any major events. Marco read and Seras slept. When they reached 116th Street station, the seemingly closest station to her apartment, Marco put away his book, picked Seras up, and carried her to her apartment.

Upon arrival to the Blackwell abode, Terrence allowed Marco to carry Seras into her room and put her in bed. As Seras lay sleeping, they sat at the small dining room table sipping at over sized cups of coffee.

"Something happened tonight that you might want to know about." Marco said, taking a long draught of his coffee. He explained what had happened that night, afterward leaving Terrence to silently sit by himself at the coffee table, a heavy thought obviously burdening his mind.

Marco didn't bother to ask. He just wanted to get home and get some sleep.


	5. Telephone Tag & Vampire Dust

When Marco had gotten home, he was absolutely exhausted. He never thought spending a night alternating between reading and observing mindless, ruthless killing could ever get him so tired. Avoiding the questions and attempts at conversation from his sister, he made his was to his room and shut the door behind him.

He sat on his bed and gave an exasperated sigh. He never thought a slayer could behave this way. A being such of retribution and wrath…someone who acted so much like him. He amused himself with exactly how he would explain this night to his sister, not to mention Willow, who had trouble seeing the bad in people. Especially slayers.

It clicked then. Willow…searching for slayers. And Seras…right there in New York.

_Perhaps Buffy and Companymight want to know about this one. Now, who was section head for the Americas? Willow, that's right. Her and Kennedy._

Marco groaned, stood, andwalked over to his desk. Although he wanted to go to bed, he knew he'd better call her while the whole thing was fresh in his mind. Otherwise he would forget and it'd take him another week or so to remember.

He sat at the desk and picked up the receiver. After dialing the Californian telephone number from memory, he put his hand in his head and sighed. _My kingdom for a cup of strong black coffee._

"Hello?" A voice that could only be Willow's replied.

Marco felt himself grow a tired smile. He needed to smile right now, anything that could give him some energy to finish this call. "Greeting Ms. Rosenberg, how goes Hell-A?"

He could hear the cheeriness grow in her voice. "Marco!"

"Guilty as charged. How are you?"

"I'm fine. How's everything in New York?"

"Going good enough, listen this isn't a social call. We need to talk."

Her voice grew worried. "Oh, what is it? Is anything wrong?"

"No, nothing like what you might be thinking, but I do have a bit of news you might want to hear."

"What is it?"

He sighed. Somehow, he knew he was going to regret making this call while he was so tired. "You know how you were looking for slayers? Well, I have someone you might want to know about."

Her voice really perked up. God, he envied how she could be so perky. "Really? Who is it?"

"Her name's Seras Blackwell. She's a slayer out of Manhattan who's relatively new to the game. Only been patrolling for about a couple of months."

"You're kidding!" She sounded so excited. Marco didn't know how to continue.

"Eh, no not really, but listen, I don't want you coming down here looking for her."

"Why not?"

"Willow, you know how I get**….**?" He paused, remembering how poorly she took his darker moments. "You know how I get."

She paused for a long moment. "Yeah?" she asked warily.

"Yeah, exactly…This girl isn't just a slayer, there's something else. Anduntil I figure out what it is I don't want you in the crossfire."

"Come on, you're over exaggerating."

_There goes that inability to believe the worst in people_. Marco gave another sigh. **"**Trust me youdon't want to be down here if she goes AWOL."

"Marco I think you're-"

"Willow! She spent the **ALL OF LAST NIGHT** killing an entire cemetery'sworth of vampires, and then almost killing a woman passing and her little dog too. And as much as I would have liked to see her kill that dog, it wouldn't have been right. Especially since the woman would have been next."

"But Marco…we need slayers more than ever before. If she's that powerful, we need her."

Marco fell silent. He didn't know what to say. He wasn't much up to trying to explain anything, but he couldn't let her go without…Ah screw it, he'd finish this after he gotsome sleep. "Listen Willow, I'm too tired to explain further, but I'm going to giveyou her number, which her brother gave me, and I'm going to let you call her. Just ask questions that will get you the bare facts. When I see her next, I'm going to ask her what you two talked about, and if I don't like what the topics of conversation were, I'm going to be very angry, am I understood? And remember, unlike Eric Bana, you don't like me when I'm angry."

She understood. He gave her the number, and told her to call it in a few hours. She agreed, they said good bye, and he went to bed.

Seras's eyes opened automatically, as if timed to do so by some internal clock. For a second, she couldn't remember where she was, or what had happened before she fell asleep. That is until it came back in a wave of violent images and colors that flashed before her eyes for all of a moment.

_Jesus H. Christ, what the hell did I do last night?_

She tried not to give it another thought, and slowly sat up. Through the darkness in the room she saw the sheets pulled up over her, with her jacket and footwear neatly placed on a chair in the corner. She looked over the edge of the bed and saw her jeans on the floor. Okay, so someone, most likely Marco, put her in bed, and in her sleep she had hastily kicked off her jeans. Well it could have been worse. She could have found herself in a box six feet under in Brooklyn with the desire to feed on blood.

Yeah, that would have been worse. Seeing as she would have stayed in the coffin for all eternity rather than face Marco's wrath.

Pulling off her sheets, she swung her feet over the edge of the bed and stood up. She did some minor stretches before anything, so as not to feel too much of the soreness that was let over from the night before. And considering what she did last night, she was expecting to be plenty sore.

She opened the door of her room and was hit with a flood of light. She groaned heavily, squinting her eyes at the major shift in lighting. She hated having to expose herself to lighting so soon after getting up, but she was hungry. Very hungry. And she wasn't going to wait an hour on the count of her allowing for adjustment time to the light.

Padding her way into and through the living room and to the kitchen, Seras saw her brother sitting at the table sharpening a stake. How nice of him to take up her patrolling for the night. Really feeling in debut to her brother, and feeling it was the least she could do, Seras verbalized her thanks.

"I'm not doing this to be nice. I'm taking you off patrol."

Seras stood there in shock, staring into the face before her. Not shaken at all, Terrence looked up from his stake sharpening at his sister and sighed. "Could you go back and put some clothes on? Walking around in your underwear stopped being cute when you turned six."

Not being able to think of anything else to say, she answered. "If you're turned on what you see, then just don't look. Unless you want to get a good mental image set up for when you're taking a shower or out with your girlfriend."

Terrence slammed down his tool and gave his sister an icy look. "What the fuck is that suppose to mean?"

"It means you treat me as if I'm something for you and you alone."

"Seras, I'm taking you off patrol for your own safety. From what Marco told me about last night-"

"Oh so you _trust_ him now, are you?"

Terrence looked away from his sister and packed up his things into the pockets of the duster that use to be their father's. "You need a night off is all." He said as he secured some stakes up his sleeves. "I don't want you going postal and hurting yourself."

Seras was still fuming with molten anger as she walked past the table and into the open kitchen. Terrence gave out a small sigh. He knew nothing he was going to say would make the situation any better, so he just stopped trying.

"I didn't make you any coffee." He remarked as he headed for the door. "And I'm not stopping by Michael's Diner on the way back to pick you up some."

"Damn Michael, damn the coffee and damn you." She said, opening the door to the fridge and taking out a small glass Starbuck's Frappachino bottle.

"Suit yourself." He said as he opened the door next to the kitchen. "But you know that's not as good as Mike's."

The anger grew in Seras so rapidly from the time that Terrence made his remark to the time the door closed, that when she looked down, the bottle laid broken: both on the floor and in her hand. She sighed and set about cleaning up, eventually getting the tweezers from the bathroom so as to get the smaller shards out of her hand.

As she tweezed the last little bit of glass, the phone rang. She looked at the clock, to make sure it was past telemarketer hours. Twelve midnight, definitely not a telemarketer, but who else could it be? All of her friends would be either asleep, studying or out at one of those wild college parties you saw on the videos.

She walked over to the phone and picked it up. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end hesitated a minute, then answered. "Yes…hello. Is this the Blackwell residence?"

"Yeahthis is the Blackwell residence." Seras felt strange saying that, _Blackwell residence_. She had never heard that before.

"Oh, well, is Seras there?"

Geez, Seras never thought someone could sound so unsure of themselves. What was up with this person? "Yeah, you're talking to her. Who's this?"

"My name's Willow. You don't know about me, but I'm a friend of Marco. I'm calling because we're looking for slayers and, well, he told me that I should talk to you…"

Terrence walked into St. Raymond's Cemetery in the Bronx, a vast and unsightly thing in Terrence's opinion, and not because it was in the middle of a residential neighborhood.

He hated patrolling. _Hated_ it. He would much rather be running around in a field of used heroin needles than patrolling. It wasn't that he had issues with killing things. Good Lord up in heaven _knows_ it wasn't because he had issues with killing things. Terrence could kill one of these things and have as much guilt over its death as he would if he were to kill Marco, that Mick-Guinea bastard.

Speaking of…

Terrence saw the bugger sitting on top of a mausoleum with a large bucket sitting square in between his legs. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Terrence practically shouted as he walked straight toward the mausoleum and its wide open door…

Before the group of vampires could make it through the doorway to attack Terrence, Marco dumped the clear, odorless liquid contents of the large bucket before the entrance. Before the poor blokes had any chance of knowing what had happened to them, they had turned into dust as a result of walking through a waterfall of holy water.

Marco jumped from the roof of the mausoleum, landing with catlike finesse. "You know normally I would tell you to keep it down, but this time your loud mouth a big help. Sped things up more than I could hope in my wildest dreams."

Terrence stared at the heap of water logged dust that was now serving as some sort of macob door mat to the tomb beyond. "Well I guess that takes care of the coven over here."

"Oh, not at all." Marco said. He gave Terrence one of his annoying smiles, and put his arm around his shoulder. "You and me are gonna have some fun tonight."

"Is that enough information for you?"

Seras sat at the dining table, a plate which had once held enough gooey, cheesy pasta to make Jabba the Hut sick to his stomach, sitting very emptily in front of her. It was two thirty in the morning, and she had been talking to this Willow character for about two and a half hours. She had basically been conducting an interview over the phone for the entire length of the conversation, and quite frankly Seras was beginning to get annoyed.

From what she was able to gather, Willow was a witch who had once worked with another slayer named Buffy Summers. That made her cover the receiver and laugh. What kind of name for a slayer was that, Buffy Summers? Not only that, she was supposedly an extremely powerful slayer, but that didn't change the fact that she sounded, and most likely looked, like one of Malibu Barbie's beach bunny friends.

In any case, there had been some sort of big catastrophe and now slayers were hard to come by. Getting wind of this, the demon community was now using this to their advantage, taking the lack of slayers as a sign to run free. Finding that they shared the opinion that this would not be acceptable, Seras agreed to do what she could to help. She told Willow about herself. How she had been trained, and that if they needed him, her brother was a witch as well; having telekinetic powers at his disposal as well as magic.

Seeming very thankful, Willow went on to ask specifics about Seras and what she has discovered about her powers, as well as some about her brother. Somehow, this process spanned the better part of an hour and a half, and thankfully was coming to a close.

Willow had seemed to pause at Seras's abrupt and direct question, but Seras didn't notice, not really anyway. Willow quietly responded, "That's enough for now I guess."

"Well, the torture is finally over." Seras said jokingly.

Willow gave a small laugh. "Yeah, sorry for keeping you up for so long but-"

Seras interrupted. "No, no, it's not a problem. It's just that I'm not use to staying home at night and I'm getting a bit…uppity."

"Oh, no, you haven't been acting like that at all." Seras decided she liked the sound of Willow's voice, except for the fact that it was eternally apologetic. "I'll let you go. I need to go to bed anyway. It's eleven thirty already."

Eleven thirty? What clock was she looking at?

_Apparently a Californian clock. _Seras thought to herself as she remembered that Willow lived on the other side of the country. Why anyone would want to live over there was beyond her. Yes, the weather was nice, but it was nice down in Florida too. No need to go all the way over so close to all those Hollywood…was people even what those silicon, cologine, botox filled _things_ were.

"Yes well it's two thirty over here, so I more than understand you being tired."

"Oh God! I'm sorry I kept you up this late! Honestly, I forgot about the time difference and-"

"Willow?" Seras was finding it hard not to laugh. It was amusing how unsure of herself she was.

"Yes?"

"Let's make a deal. If you let me get off the phone now, and promise to call whenever it's an emergency and you guys need me over there you'll call, deal?"

Willow gave another innocent laugh. "Alright. Well, good night Seras."

"Goodnight Willow, take care of yourself."

"You too."

Seras waited until she heard the soft click of the phone being hung up on the other end before she herself hung up the phone. She sighed heavily. Well, at least she had proof now that she wasn't alone in her Godly mission.

Which didn't make it any better. Not in the least.

She got up, stopping to stare at her reflection in the large windows. She stared at her body, which had changed in the last few months. It had lost some of it's thickness due to her massive increase in physical activity, but she was still a size twelve, which she had no problem with. Last thing she wanted was to look like one of those Abercrombie and Fitch models.

Not that they weren't _okay_ looking, she just didn't want that look for her.

She continued her walk to the bathroom, closing the door behind her despite the fact that she was home alone. Turning on the shower, she disrobed out of what little clothing she had on, and sat on the toilet seat waiting for the bathroom to fill with steam. She leaned her head back and gave another hearty sigh.

_I don't know what's worse: the fact that it's my obligation to do this sort of thing for the rest of my days, or that the rest of my days might very well not be too many._ She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. _Well, one good thing about this whole slaying thing. I got to meet Marco out of the whole deal._

Seras thought of Marco, conjuring an image of him in her mind's eye. She remembered the warmth of his lips against hers, and the smell of him from when she had fallen asleep on his shoulder. She couldn't help but smile.

Maybe things weren't exactly as bad as she had made them out to be…


	6. The Last of The First

In a large, cavernous room, something stirred in the shadows where the moonlight falling through the large windows along the wall couldn't reach. On the edge of where the light peered into the darkness was a thrown of pitch black ebony wood, the blood red and onyx jewels inset on the backing dully gleaming with the reflected light of Diana's chariot.

In the thrown sat the dark goddess Persephone, her long fire blonde hair draping over her face and tumbling over her shoulders. Through the cascade of follicle flames, a small demented smile could be seen creeping onto her face. Over her left hand floated the reason for her devilish glee.

A milkish lavender orb sat in the air. Inside of it a picture of the slayer as she was positioned was in the center, seeming to be sitting on nothing. Coming from the globe Seras's voice seemed to be whispering, "_Marco…I want Marco…All to myself…I want him…I want him…_"

Persephone gave a laugh that caused the window to become covered with a thin layer of frost. "Seras, Seras, Seras…Whatever shall we do with you? Too bad Marco has Amanda, or else you would be number one on his list." She gave another laugh, this one causing the windows to frost over completely. The light in the room became eerie as it was now being filtered through the now matte glass.

Taking the pointer finger of her right hand, she broke the surface of the orb and dipped her finger into the area within. A pearl colored wisp of smoke formed and floated around the image of the young slayer.

"Let's hope your jealousy doesn't get the best of you."

Seras took a deep breathe of the steam that surrounded her. As the air entered her lungs, she felt herself spasm as her body suddenly lurched forward. She felt something moving _inside_ of her, searing and scorching everything it touched. She gasped for breathe, but whatever it was that was inside her grew.

She felt it wrapping around her organs, seeping in as it attempted to squeeze them into something reminiscent of the primordial goop she came forth from. She tried to yell, but the pain grew worse.

Falling to her knees, she grasped at her chest and watched as torrents of tears and blood poured onto the floor below her. She felt her body throbbing and convulsing, betraying her with every pulsation. The steam in the room seemed to grow thick before her, and became suffocating.

She soon blacked out. Her body going limp, she collapsed flat onto the floor.

"You know what I think," Terrence continued to rant at Marco, even inside the apartment building, "I think you drove Seras nuts that night, you Guinea bastard."

Marco, normally, would've taken offense, and probably would've inflicted severe amounts of pain upon the British-like annoyance behind him. But now it was just annoying, and he sighed once more.

Marco reached the door to the apartment and said, "Wow, when we agreed to discuss this only with Seras in the room, what I _really_ meant was harass me all the way from Queens in a voice so loud that _humans_ can hear us coming from Montauk Point."

Terrence blinked. "Where?"

"Argh, never mind."

Cattalano turned and opened the apartment door.

Terrence's attention snapped to the opened door. "Hey, I locked that."

The Brooklynite smiled. "You'd be surprised how many doors my charm can open." He stepped inside. "Seras! Come on out so you can referee an argument between me and your brother as I throw him out the window! Seras?" He scanned the area. "Seras?"

Terrence sighed. "She was wasted when I left…tired in your tongue. She's probably dead to the world."

"Or actually deceased you moron." Marco looked at a door with a poster of Johnny Depp and concluded it was Seras's room. He charged and kicked the door in.

No one.

He whirled, pushed Terrence aside and tried another door. Locked. "What is this?"

"The bathroom, what is—"

Cattalano kicked in the door.

And there was Seras, on the floor. He blinked a few times, wondering why the entire bathroom floor was the color of blood. What idiot would consider a blood red color scheme, after all…

_Crud!_

Marco stepped through the blood to feel Seras' pulse. "Tell me you're still breathing… okay, barely. Terrence, call 911, she's—"

"_What did you do to her you sonofabitch!_"

Marco was slammed against the wall and held there by thin air. He blinked. _Terrence is apparently very good at the telekinesis thing._

Terrence glared, trying to rupture a blood vessel in Marco's head. He stepped into the bathroom and slipped on the blood. His concentration broke, dropping Marco to the floor. Marco ripped the mirror off the wall and flung it into Terrence's face, smashing it to pieces and shredding the other Blackwell's face, turning it into a mass of blood that—most importantly—covered his eyes.

Marco kicked Terrence in the crotch, and used his head for a soccer ball just to drop him. He sighed, flipped out a cell phone, and dialed 911 for the paramedics. He turned to Seras and reached into his pocket to pull out the sterile gauze he carried as part of his impromptu first aid package. He used all of it to patch up the worse wounds. When he ran out of that, he immediately grabbed several towels, soaked them in alcohol—and then Vodka when he ran out of rubbing alcohol—and used them as tourniquets around the major arteries before she could bleed out. Thankfully, none of the blood was spurting which meant no major vessels had been shredding…

Or she had just run out of blood to spurt.

Marco shook his head. Couldn't be, the blood was too fresh. This must have only happened recently. He felt her pulse again. Nothing. Nuts.

He reached into his pocket for a syringe and a vial of adrenaline, filled one with the other, then stabbed Seras in the heart, filling her with adrenaline to stimulate the heart muscles. After two minutes of CPR, and three minutes away from brain death, he cursed, grabbed the nearest lamp, smashed the light bulb, then stuck the two internal electrodes to her chest, making her jump…and draw in air.

The EMS team arrived, and Marco collapsed, getting out of their way. He spent time explaining that, "I dunno officers, I guess she cut herself on the broken mirror. Either that or she tried to kill herself, I can't say. And him? He slipped on the blood when we came in, so terrible, isn't it? No, don't worry, I can patch him up easily enough. Not a problem. I'm a medical student, surgery rotation. Yes, that's my handy work. Thank you officers, call me when her condition changes. I'll stay here and take her brother in to visit her. Have a good day sirs."

Marco closed the door, and breathed deeply a moment. What could have done this? Vampires wouldn't have been allowed in, and there couldn't have been a demon attack, mainly because—knowing Seras—the apartment building wouldn't have been standing, and half of the Emergency Services Units in NYC would have come to the scene of what would have been labeled a "terrorist bombing."

He didn't know exactly what happened, and suicide was out—there were easier ways for her to go, starting by walking naked through a coven. Besides, she wasn't holding anything sharp—so what could have done this?

Something that didn't need to be here when it happened. Something that didn't want to be in the same room when it hit Seras.

Something that was afraid of her. Something that was so afraid, that even after Seras had been dropped like half-dried cement, wouldn't go near her.

One person came to mind.

He made a phone call to California, for Willow, and left a voice mail to have her call him back.

Marco filled the bathtub, and poured in an entire container of salt and another of lemon juice. He then dragged Terrence over and pushed his head under the water for a count of ten, then pulled him out.

"Now you will listen to me, you little British turd, you will tell me _exactly_ what Seras is, how she's related to Persephone, and why Seras can hurt her."

Terrence, his face on fire from the salt water and the lemon juice in the cuts, screamed, "I don't know what you're talking about, I'll—"

Dunk. "One more time. I saw Seras drop Persephone by complete accident in the graveyard the other night when she went berserker on half the vamps in Brooklyn, when she couldn't do that on purpose a month ago. Which means she can hurt Persephone, and Persephone is scared of her, which means she probably caused what happened tonight, _capisce, schmuck_?"

Terrence blinked his pained eyes, trying to rip out Marco's eyes with his thoughts…but he wasn't given time to clear the water from his vision.

Dunk. "Listen to me moron, this is an old technique. The ancient Chinese would make thousands of paper cuts over someone's body, then throw them into a pool of water like this—the pain was so severe, they all died from shock. Want me to see if it still works?"

Terrence blinked faster this time, hoping to—

After another dunking, Terrence was far more reasonable.

"She's the last of our bloodline" He screamed before another dunking could be administered.

Marco blinked. "What did you say?"

"You heard what I said you Irish piece of—"

Marco violently threw him back into the tub, holding him down by the shoulders. Resisting the urge to kill him, he pulled Terrence out, but not too far away from the water. "Make any cracks like that and I'll just kill you harder, now what's this bloodline about?"

Gasping, Terrence did his best to give Marco a menacing stare. "If you get me away from this tub long enough to clear out the cuts, maybe I'll continue."

He gave a heavy, disappointed sigh. "Fine."

Marco dropped Terrence to the floor and stood up. As Terrence picked up a shard of mirror, Marco caught his own reflect one on of the pieces of mirror on the floor. Jesus, he looked like battle field surgeon.

Well, at least he didn't look like Carrie sitting over there on the side of the tub.

Terrence began to clean up his face, paying attention to his more than blood shot eyes. "Swear to bloody God, if I can't see-"

"Would you like the full body submersion this time?"

Their eyes locked on each other, but Marco was the first to break the stare. The last thing he wanted was to do was be locked in battle was a pissed of telepath.

He walked out of the room and into the kitchen. Opening the door to the fridge, he was tempted to take the bottle of champagne and down it. He wasn't much of a drinker, but Terrence was driving him to being an alcoholic.

Better drunk and have a solid chance at pleading temporary insanity as an alibi for killing the bugger than being sober and killing him.

As he sat at the table, downing a 32 ounce bottle of Pepsi instead of the champagne, Terrence walked into the room scowling. His face was pretty okay looking for having been hit with a mirror and tempered in a salt and lemon juice cocktail. Marco gave a grin at his handiwork, raising his glass to Terrence. "Cheers."

Marco hardly had time to close his eyes as his glass shattered in his face. "Well I see where Seras gets her loving temper." Marco muttered, checking his hand for any cuts. "But enough with showing your benevolent temperament, you were saying something about a first batch of slayers?"

He glared at his guest, and instead walked over to the bar. After making himself a double whiskey sour, and drinking it down in one fowl gulp, Terrence began his narrative while making another drink. "Seras, as well as I, are the last living survivors of the first brood of Slayers."

Marco gave him a look. "Are you trying to tell me that there was a first batch of Slayers before the current model?"

He groaned. "Isn't that what I just said? You'd think you'd bloody micks would have common sense by this time."

Marco was growing tired, even more tired than what he was already. But he tried to be as amicable as his exhausted mind would allow him. "Listen, I don't like you, and you certainly don't like me, but we _might_ have one thing in common: Seras's safety. And that's in jeopardy, and not only from the ruptured blood vessels. Now, one more time, explain…or else…"

He took a long sip from the drink he made, pausing for a second before giving a heavy sigh. "The current Slayer line isn't the original line. The first slayers were supposed to be a matrilineal line. One Slayer coming from each great civilization. But something happened, and the lines couldn't be continued.

"Lemme guess, Persephone, maybe?"

Terrence growled. "If you'd shut up a moment, maybe you'd learn something."

Marco leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. _I'll shut up, the better to devise a way to ultimately kill you_.

Terrence shot him a look. _I heard that._

Marco gave his famous, annoying grin. "I know."

Giving him a long stare, Terrence shook his head and leaned against the bar's counter. "In any case, Persephone wasn't a major problem. She wasn't even a concern at the time."

He cocked an eyebrow. "If it wasn't her, then why's she after Seras?"

"Because her ancestor was the one who originally shut her down. A long time ago, Persephone didn't have any power over the underworld." He turned with an exasperated look at Marco. "You _do_ know the myth, don't you? Or are you like every other ignorant American?"

"Of course: kidnapping, pomegranate, winter, I've heard it."

"Probably from watching episodes of Hercules on television, I'd wager." He gave another heavy sigh. "Persephone decided that she wanted to be the overall ruler. I mean, if she had to be stuck down there, why not run the place, right? Anyway, she gathered an army of harpies, sirens and the usual gang, and tried to take over hell, but our ancestor stopped her. An obligation to maintain balance between Heaven and Hell, or some rubbish like that."

"How nice of you to think of God's master plan so trivially."

He groaned. "That doesn't matter right now."

Marco gave another broad grin. "Keep on talking like that, and you better invest in rubber soled shoes, boy."

"Anyway… _our_ ancestor—"

"I should hope so, you _are_ brother and sister."

"Listen _Marco_, you wanted to know about the first brood? Then shut up and listen."

"Excuse us Homer. Please, continue with the story."

Taking a deep, impatient breathe, he did. "In any case, after the first battle with Persephone is when it happened. The demon responsible for the _second_ brood of slayers, wiped out the first. It came out of nowhere working from east to west, slaughtering Slayers like a herd with mad cow disease. Eventually, it killed all of them."

He nonchalantly sipped from his glass. The fact that he was explaining this with the same care and patience as a Red Sox fan explaining his preference of teams of to a Yankees fan disturbed him. But none the less, he continued on with the conversation.

"Which explains the second group of slayers, but not you and Seras."

"Remember how the line was matrilineal?" Marco nodded in confirmation. Terrence continued. "Well apparently our ancestor had a son before she was brutally slaughtered—Xanatos.

"She's the last of her line, so what? What's so special about this line? Why is Persephone picking on Seras when there's currently a whole world full of Slayers from the second batch?"

"Besides that it was our line that was responsible for her first defeat? The first batch were also witches."

Marco blinked, his mind going blank for a second before he snapped back to reality. He leaned forward. "So Seras is a slayer _and_ a witch?" Terrence gave a small nod.

_This is gonna be fun_. Marco stood up and circled to the side of the table closest to Terrence. "Seras must have the mental stability of a Miami palm tree in a hurricane, and you're blaming _me_ for her going nuts?"

"You're over exaggerating, she's fully capable of—"

"Taking out a city block if she blinks wrong!" Marco said, his voice rising sharply. "You're sending her out with a month's worth of _slayer_ training. Are you nuts? When were you going to tell _her_ about the witch part? When she's found standing in the middle of a crater and's arrested under suspicion of being a terrorist?"

He gave another of his annoying British know-it-all groans. "She doesn't need to know. I'm the witch, she's the slayer. They don't mix"

Marco was absolutely dumbfounded. "They don't…what did you say the first batch of slayers were?"

"Slayers with magical powers."

"Riiiiight, after you tell me this, you have the audacity to tell me that they don't mix?"

"I just—"

"You just let your younger sister, your only relative, walk around with the stability of nitro on the Pelham parkway pre-construction." Marco was on the border line of an absolute rage. "I don't know if you took genetics, but if the family line has signs of one thing, it's possible _she_ has it, which makes it absolutely probable that she is both a witch _and_ a slayer. She's dangerous: to herself, to you, the city and anything in her way; like, I dunno, _me_." He sighed. "Now you are going to tell her about all this, _right_?"

"You don't understand." As Terrence put down his glass to face Marco, he somehow _knew_ he wasn't going to be pleased with what came out of his mouth.

"You know how powerful she could become? What she could pass on to the next generation? She can give birth to another brood of slayers with unimaginable powers. She can be responsible for the end of the Slayer tradition. **_She can end this_**."

Terrence wasn't sure what happened, but the next thing he knew, he was flat on his stomach with a knife to the back of his neck. He tired to make the couch move and decapitate Marco, but somehow he sensed it and dug the tip of the knife into the back of his neck.

"Listen you sick bastard, I don't know who you think you are, trying to play Mr. Mengele genetic games with your little sister, but try that while I'm still alive, and you'll _wish_ she went AWOL on you."

Terrence's demeanor changed at the drop of a hat. "You wouldn't dare. Where would she be without me? I'm all she has. Besides, I only have her best interests in mind."

Marco's wit failed him, and his repartee involved slamming the bastard's head into the floor. "She does have somewhere else to go, with me if she has to. Because I don't think that if you're her only living relative, that that would be best for her. So go and try it. I'll be glad to rectify the _living_ part."

Again his demeanor changed. This guy was turning out to be an absolute Jekyll and Hyde case. "But she's all I have, thanks to that bitch Persephone! Is it wrong that I want her strong enough to protect herself?"

"Then why haven't you trained her to use her magic?" Marco felt his stomach turn in disgust, which was no easy feat. "You don't want her to protect herself. You want to protect _your_ legacy, _your_ work. You're pride's swelling your head so much, you might as well have meningitis; you need to stop. Cool down a bit."

"Really? And how'd you suggest that?"

Marco put him on his back, kneeled on his chest, reached over to grab a bottle of vodka out of the bar's mini fridge. He uncorked it, and said, "Hold your breath."


End file.
